


love in an elevator

by aghamora



Series: Flaurel Ficlets [19]
Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: F/M, Trapped In Elevator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-26 23:21:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5024593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aghamora/pseuds/aghamora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were a number of ways Laurel had been planning on spending her Monday afternoon. None of them had involved getting stuck in an elevator with Frank.</p>
            </blockquote>





	love in an elevator

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: flaurel stuck in a elevator with lots of angst and sexual tension.

There were a number of ways Laurel had been planning on spending her Monday afternoon. None of them had involved getting stuck in an elevator with Frank.

Their newest client is a high-profile businessman on trial for embezzlement. They’d gone to his office in downtown Philly to meet him, and after the case briefing, Annalise had sent them off in teams to pry information out of his employees.

Predictably, she’d gotten paired up with Frank, who she’d been doing her best to give the cold shoulder after he’d kicked her rather unceremoniously out of his apartment last Friday. So far, she had been succeeding relatively well – until they step inside the elevator to go to the fifteenth floor and he glances sideways at her, eyebrows raised.

“You can’t avoid me forever,” he tells her just as the elevator doors close, leaving them alone.

She keeps her mouth shut and doesn’t spare him a glance, instead fixing her eyes straight ahead.

“What, you’re pissed because I wouldn’t get you off Friday? ’Cause I don’t just wanna be your sex slave anymore?”

“You know, for your information, I don’t need you,” she retorts. “So you want to cut me off? Fine. Consider us over – for good, this time.”

He turns toward her. “You know that’s not what you want.”

Laurel clenches her jaw and turns to face him too.

“Who are you to tell me what I-”

A large, ominous thud cuts her off. The elevator comes to an abrupt halt, so much so that they stumble and almost fall, and the lights flicker off, replaced by the blood-red glow of the emergency one instead.

Laurel freezes.  _Of course._  Why would the forces of the universe want to give her a break today of all days?

“Shit,” Frank swears, looking around for a moment before stalking over to the rows of buttons and hitting the one that reads ‘in case of emergency.’ “C’mon.”

They wait a moment. Then, a crackly voice belonging to a woman comes over the tiny speaker. “ _What seems to be the problem_?”

“What seems to be the problem?” Frank scoffs, irritated. “The damn elevator’s stuck – that’s the problem.”

“ _All right, sir, if you could just bear with us, we’ll have someone down to get you out as soon as possible_.”

“And how soon is as soon as possible?”

No answer.

Laurel folds her arms and sighs. “Great. Just great.”

“Well,” he turns to look at her, smirking. “Looks like we’ll be trapped for a while. Can’t really avoid me now, can ya?”

She groans and sinks down onto the ground, burying her face into her hands.

 

–

 

“C’mon. Talk to me. You know you want to.”

“…”

“Y’know, it’s no fun being stuck in here with you if you’re just gonna keep giving me the silent treatment.”

“…”

Frank wriggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Well, we’re gonna be in here for a while. Might as well find a way to pass the time.”

Finally, Laurel wipes the sweat from her forehead and looks over at him where he sits across from her, his suit jacket lying on the ground next to him and his sleeves rolled up.

“So first you say you’re closed for business, and now you’re trying to _initiate_  sex?” she snaps, annoyed.

“No. I was just trying to get you to talk to me. And it worked.”

Laurel opens her mouth to reply, but promptly shuts it and shakes her head. She’s sweating bullets, even after removing her jacket, and in all honesty, she’s miserable enough without Frank here to make all this worse –  _and_  make her even more sexually frustrated than she already was.

“Look, all I was trying to tell you is that I want more, Laurel. More than whatever the hell we have going now,” Frank tells her, surprisingly earnestly. “We’ve never been out on a real date. You even know what my middle name is?

“Like you ever bothered to tell me. You were always too busy trying to-”

“It’s Joseph. You?”

She hesitates, pursing her lips into a line. “You don’t want to know. Seriously.”

“Come on. How bad can it be?”

“Fine,” she relents. “But promise you won’t laugh.”

“You want me to pinky-promise too?”

She rolls her eyes. “Okay. It’s… Mildred.”

Laurel isn’t actually all that surprised when he starts laughing; she should’ve seen it coming, really.

Still, she scowls, reaching her leg across to kick him. “You said you wouldn’t laugh!”

“Sorry,” he apologizes, sobering up. “Yeah, that’s pretty rough. Family name?”

“My grandma, on my mom’s side. We were really close when I was little.” She pauses. “What about you? Your family?”

“What about ‘em?”

Laurel shrugs. “What are they… like?”

“My dad’s a mechanic. Mom’s a homemaker. I got two brothers who live outta state.”

“Any nieces or nephews?”

He chuckles. “One. Her name’s Sofia. I always see her on holidays, and she runs up and calls me ‘Uncle Frankie,’ and yanks on my beard.”

She laughs at the thought of that, and then promptly lowers her eyes, because – God, the idea of Frank with kids makes her absolutely melt, and she can’t let _him_  know that. Not when she’s still supposed to be mad at him, at least.

“What next? You wanna know my heritage? Italian, through and through. I practically bleed marinara sauce.”

“I’m Mexican on my dad’s side,” she chimes in. “So I guess I practically bleed hot sauce. You speak any Italian?”

“I wish. You know how easy it’d be to pick up girls if I did?” Laurel gives a feigned sneer of disgust, and he winks at her. “I’m kidding. I already got the only girl I need.”

Laurel can’t fight the blush that creeps onto her cheeks at that.  _Dammit._  He’s making it really freaking hard to stay angry.

“So what now?” she asks. “We just… ask each other questions?”

He shrugs. “Why not? We got nothing better to do. You ask one, I ask one. I go first.”

“Fine. What do you want to know?”

Frank pauses to think for a moment. “Favorite color.”

“Really?” She gives him a look of disbelief. “Not how many guys I’ve been with, or how many boyfriends I’ve had?”

“You think I care about that? I wanna know  _you_.”

Her eyes linger on his for a second, before she shakes her head and snaps out of it. “Red. I like red.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, the next time I’m buying you lingerie.”

Laurel rolls her eyes, but smiles. “My turn. What’re you afraid of?”

“Heights. Needles. Clowns kinda scare the hell out of me, too.”

“Clowns?” she echoes incredulously. “You’re a big, macho tough-guy and you’re afraid of  _clowns_?”

He acknowledges that with a shrug. “Childhood phobia I never got over. Whatever – it’s me now. What do you wanna do after you graduate?”

She hesitates. “You’re just going to make fun of me and call me an idealist.”

“No, I won’t,” he promises. “Tell me. I wanna know.”

“I… I don’t know, exactly. But after I get my degree I want to help people. Battered women, or maybe something with human rights, or – I don’t know. And yeah, you and everyone else can make fun of me for still being a stupid wide-eyed idealist, but I think there’s… good in the world. I want to find it. Make a difference.”

When she looks up, she finds Frank staring intently at her. It’s hard to see his face in the dim red light, but he doesn’t look amused – not like she’d thought he would, at least. He’s just… looking at her, tenderly and gently.

“Don’t lose that,” he says finally. “Ever.”

“The world kinda takes it out of you sometimes. And by the world I mean working for Annalise.”

“Yeah, well, don’t let it. I know first-hand the world’s a real shitty place.” He lowers his voice, his eyes softening somewhat. “When I’m with you you make it seem a whole lot less shitty.”

Laurel smiles, tentatively. “Thanks, I guess?”

They share a laugh, and once they sober up, Laurel takes a long look at Frank, a wicked idea hitting her out of nowhere.

“It’s your turn,” he reminds her, after she’s done nothing but look at him for a minute. “What else you wanna know?”

Slowly, very slowly, she meets his eyes, and when she speaks, her voice is soft, breathy. “Favorite, um, position?”

He feigns confusion, but the wicked sparkle in his eyes leads her to believe he knows exactly what she’s talking about.

“Position? Like yoga?”

She blushes. “You know what I mean!”

“Aw, what? You tryin’ to talk me into bed again?” Frank cocks his head to one side, pretending to think for a minute. “Come over here. I’d rather show you.”

With a little smile on her face, she crawls over to him on her hands and knees – but hardly makes it two feet before he reaches out and pulls her into his lap, urging her to straddle him. The movement is so swift and sudden that it almost knocks the breath out of her, and when he leans in so close that his stubble scrapes her neck, she inhales sharply, her body melting against him.

“I like it like this,” he purrs against her throat. “When you’re on top.”

“Really?”

“Mmm,” Frank hums, lowering his lips to suck on the side of her neck. “’Course. When I can watch you ride me… and watch you come your  _brains_ out.”

He captures her lips in a hard, searing kiss, tangling one hand in her hair to bring her closer still. It’s borderline sloppy, with roaming hands and too much tongue – but after not having him for what feels like an eternity, Laurel can’t get enough of it.  _Him_.

_When I can watch you ride me. Watch you come your brains out._ Her hands go for the buttons on his waistcoat, driven on by the words, before she remembers abruptly where they are.

“We can’t,” she pants, pulling away. “There’re cameras in here-”

He kisses her silent. “Good. We’ll give ‘em a show they won’t soon forget.”

Laurel thinks about protesting, but quickly gives up on that idea when Frank deepens the kiss, his hands moving lower to grope at her ass. And he’s just about to reach behind her back and tug her shirt over her head and strip off her bra when-

A series of bangs from outside, followed by the return of the lights and the sound of the elevator ascending once more, kills the mood in the blink of an eye.  

A cheery voice comes over the little speaker, “ _All right, folks. We’re sorry about the inconvenience, but we have the elevator up and running again. If you need any further assistance please stop by the front desk, or call-”_

Laurel groans. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Darn,” Frank fake-laments. “Cockblocked again, babe.”

She glares, then climbs off of him, stands, and smooths down her skirt. “Ha ha. Very funny.”

The elevator comes to a stop, and the metal doors open, granting them a blessed view of the outside world – although, really, Laurel would have been fine with being trapped for another ten minutes. Or thirty.

Or an hour. Tops.

Frank must notice the semi-distraught look on her face as they step out into a floor full of grey, dismal-looking cubicles, because he leans in close, his lips brushing her ear and making her shudder.

“Come over tonight. Think maybe we can finally do something about those blue balls of yours.”

_Tonight_?  _Hours_  away? She’s not sure she can make it until then, honestly, and she isn’t quite sure what that says about her, but she’s beyond caring at this point. If she’s a sex addict she’s a sex addict, and she’ll seek therapy for it later. But right now…

Laurel widens her blue eyes pleadingly, and pouts. Actually  _pouts_  – and Frank wanders right into her trap. Of course he does.

“Jesus,” he murmurs under his breath. “Y’know, if you keep looking at me like that, we won’t make it to a _bed_.”

Laurel doesn’t answer aloud; she knows she doesn’t have to. She simply bats her eyelashes, deepens her pout, and it has just the intended effect: Frank exhales sharply, his shoulders drooping in a tacit show of surrender.  

“Fine. But if I wasn’t such a generous gigolo-”

Laurel grabs him by the wrist and tugs him over to a nearby janitor’s closet before he has the chance to finish that sentence.


End file.
